CLOAKING THE THIRD REICH

Chapter #1 THEM OLD BONES
Chapter #11 MASADA

Chapter #1 THEM OLD BONES

It has been said that when heaven rains, hell’s fires freeze, and all those things the world thought could never happen, suddenly happen.

The rain had been a long time coming for Steve Somers. He had spent the better part of the last five years engrossed in research for the McNama Institute’s Cell Biology department. He sat now in his office—which was
less of an office and more of a makeshift cubicle set up at the back of the lab. Flicking his pen, he sat on hold with the Senior Vice President of the company, waiting to find out if the funds he needed to complete the research had been approved.

Bored with the drone of silence from the other end of the line and bothered by the fact that he sat surrounded by tests that needed to be run and microbes that needed to be examined and categorized, he let out a small sigh and flicked the pen across his desk, then tucked the phone
under his chin in an effort to get more comfortable. The coffee he had picked up on the way into work that morning sat in the same place he had set it down when he first walked in. He pulled the cup closer, thought about taking a drink, then suddenly mindful of the surge of agitation that was sure to come from the additional caffeine, he reconsidered and set it back down. Instead, he stretched back in his chair, letting the blood flow more freely through to his muscles, looked out the window, and let his mind rest for a moment in wondering. He thought about the reports on cell regeneration he still needed to sift through. He thought about the vacation he wanted to take at some point. He thought about lunch.

And then his glance fell to his laptop screen and an email sitting in his inbox from his dad Jack. Attached to it was an article about an Israeli archeologist in the Sinai Desert: “Steve, saw this in the Toronto Star. Check out the reference to Moses’s age and the bones of Joshua halfway down. Could be the lynch pin you’re looking for,” Jack had written briefly in the email. Steve opened the attachment again and scanned the article until he came to the section his dad was talking about. “Moses was a hundred and twenty years old when he died, yet his eyes were not weak nor his strength gone,” Deuteronomy 34:7. The article went on to talk about a rogue archeologist named Dr. Ariel Sivski. “Dr. Sivski has recently been asked to resign from the Israeli Archeological Institute after it was discovered she was leading a dig team in the excavation of an ancient gravesite rumored to have the bones of ancient Hebrew soldiers from Israel’s Desert Period, most notable of whom was Joshua son of Nun.

Steve scanned down to the middle of the article. “According to ancient Jewish scrolls, after spending nearly 40 years leading a weary band of freed Hebrew slaves through the desert, the legendary Moses passed the mantle of leadership down to his protégé, Joshua. Though nearly 80 years of age himself, Joshua managed to transform the remaining tribes into an impressive band of Israelite soldiers before leading them on a bold military campaign against the ancient warlords in the fertile region that spanned between the River of Egypt and the Euphrates River. According to documents recently released from the Israeli Archeological Institute, Dr. Sivski has purposed to recover the bones of these ancients Israelites in hopes of substantiating the claims that they were indeed able to maintain prodigious levels of health, strength and stamina at such advanced seasons of life.” The article concluded by saying that reports were circulating that Dr. Sivski’s team had disappeared immediately following rumors that they had indeed found the remains of ancient Israelites.

What really struck Steve most about the article, though, was the photo toward the bottom of Dr. Sivski herself. She was in her early thirties and there was a unique vibrancy about her. She stood in the midst of the dig crew, one arm wrapped fondly around a Frenchman standing to her right and the other arm linked casually with a woman dressed in military fatigues. The rest of the crew huddled around the trio and were leaning in to them. Dr. Sivski’s eyes looked off in the distance, laughing, apparently amused by something someone had just said. Her long, black hair had been pulled back off her neck into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, but a few loose curls had escaped and fell softly on her shoulders. There was something, too, about the way she stood with her weight casually thrown on to one leg, a wide smile on her lips, that belied a relaxed confidence which somehow made the audacity of the venture she was a part of seem sensible, appealing even. Behind the dig crew in the distance, a group of Bedouins sat huddled around a campfire, a few looking up into the camera. Everything about it felt familiar to Steve. The feeling was so strong it was as if he had been there with them when the photo was taken.

“Steve are you there?” Dr. Eizer, McNama’s senior vice president, was now back on the other end of the line.

The voice jolted Steve back to the here and now. He set the article down and swung his feet off the desk. “Yes. Sorry. I thought I was still on hold.” He picked up his pen and searched under the papers on his desk for his note pad. “Okay, so what’s the news?”

“Good news. The funding came through. Whatever you put in that proposal is sure turning heads over here,
”Dr. Eizer chuckled on the other end, but Steve thought he detected an uncomfortable edge to the laugh.

“Okay... great.” he replied, but held his excitement in check cautiously. “So when can we get started with this next phase?” He opened his day planner and scanned his week.

“We’re waiting to hear all the details on timelines and when exactly the funding is going to be released. I’ll let you know as soon as I know.” There was a brief pause, and Steve could hear Dr. Eizer breathing quicken on the other end. He was anxious about something. “Hey, Steve. I wanted to ask you about the last part of your proposal. I know when you submitted the preliminary draft last year you were focusing on rebinding new combinations of proteins to slow down the aging process, but the updated draft you sent over to us last month has raised some questions. In fact, when they brought up some of your new information at the board meeting yesterday, it took me a bit off guard. I had assumed the additions you
mentioned in your email would be minor. Wait a minute here, let me flip over to it so I can read your wording of it all.”

Steve tightened the grip on the pencil he was holding, and he could feel the muscles in his back tensing. He was bracing himself for something, though what direction it was going to come from he couldn’t be exactly sure and the one thing Steve hated most of all, was not knowing what was coming. He bowed his head, doing a quick mental review of everything he’d put in his updated proposal. He knew his research was solid, but the methods he was proposing were admittedly unconventional.

“Here it is. ‘The funding for the Methuselah Project would be used to finance further research initiatives into claims of longevity in early humans, based on ancient middle eastern historical texts which trace the lineage of specific people groups back to the early beginnings of our species.’ What texts are you referring to? And what do you mean by ‘groundbreaking claims about the longevity of life in early humans’? And, by the way, I noticed you finally came up with a name for the retrovirus—so who is Methuselah?”

Steve scratched the back of his head, and then let his hand hang on the bottom of his neck, grinding out the ache that seemed to appear out of nowhere. He had explained, all of this in the initial email he had sent to Dr. Eizer with the revised proposal, but decided that this probably wasn’t the best way. Now that he was faced with having a conversation over the phone, however, the email option seemed much more appealing. “Methuselah was the oldest living human, at least that historians have any kind of written documentation of. According to ancient scrolls, Methuselah lived 969 years, so just shy of a millennium.” He waited for Dr. Eizer to respond.

“Hmmm.” Dr. Eizer sounded unimpressed. “What scrolls are we talking about exactly?”

“Torah, Dr. Eizer. The ancient scrolls that I am referring to in the proposal are the Torah. Specifically, the Five Books of Moses, what Jews call the Chumash and Christians call the Old Testament.”

“Uh huh.” Dr. Eizer responded awkwardly. “And what do scientists call it, Steve?” He asked, the loud chuckle that followed doused subtly with disdain. “I mean, a person who lives to be almost a thousand years old sounds a lot more like mythology than biology,” he concluded.

Steve sighed, realizing the conversation was taking a turn for the worse. “It does seem a bit outlandish at first, but breakthroughs always start with notions that appear too good to be true. I honestly think there is something to those ancient records, Dr. Eizer. At least enough so that it’s worth looking into. If they are accurate, then what we’re trying to do with this serum isn’t so unrealistic—it isn’t even progressive. It’s retro. Like we’re finding a way back to what we once were. Rediscovering humanity’s original capacity.”

“Let’s say for a minute life spans of that length are historical, and that we can verify them scientifically. What happened to cut them short? Oh wait. Let me guess: A comet hurdling in from outer space, like the dinosaurs. Oh, no. I forgot. Your talking religious scrolls here, so it must have something to do with what, forbidden fruit and a garden?” Dr. Eizer switched the phone to the other ear, the sarcasm in his voice obvious.

Steve rubbed his forehead. He always found dealing with cynicism tiresome. “Well, you’ve got the right book, just the wrong chapter. It’s after Adam and the garden, but before Noah and the flood. During the time of the Nephilim.”

Dr. Eizer sat quiet for a minute on the other end. “The what?”

“The Nephilim. They were an ancient ethnic group who were said to have been a fusion between the natural and the supernatural. According to Torah, the daughters of Adam were so beautiful, that angels fell in love with them, even gave up their wings to be with them.

You ever see that movie with Meg Ryan? What was it called... City of Angels? No? Alright, never mind. The legend says that angels fell for the daughters of Adam—literally fell. That is, they became what we call fallen angels, demonic. Unfortunately, most of the women these demons approached, though they were beautiful, were either not wise enough to realize that kind of union would be cursed or not strong enough to resist. Mesmerized by the seduction of it all, the daughters of Adam slept with the fallen angels. The children of these unions were half human, half supernatural and became known as the Nephilim. They had prodigious size and strength and were some of the most physically beautiful creatures ever. The Torah refers to them as the ‘heroes’ of old, men and women of renown.’ However, the traces of the demonic caused them to be morally corrupt—violent, deceitful, and vain at their core. They used their beauty to seduce, their strength to destroy, and in their arrogance they began to despise humanity. Goliath was said to be one of the last of their descendants. Other tribes, too, like the Anakim and Rephaim in the Hebron region and the ominous tribe of Gog in the land of Magog were said to have also been their descendants. Some say that this is where the stories about Amazon Women and Greek half-gods like Perseus originate.”

“Alright. I’ll bite. What happened to them?”

“The Torah says that God—who the ancient Hebrews referred to as Adonai—was sickened by it all and saddened that humanity had allowed themselves to be so compromised by the seductive spirit of the demonic. He was not surprised however; as a species it was obvious after the incident in the garden that humans were not mature enough yet to handle the kind of
capacity with which they had been initially entrusted, so the Torah says that Adonai reduced human life span to around 120 years and then sent a flood to clean out the consequences of their mistake and give them a fresh start through Noah and his family.”

“Right,” Dr. Eizer drew out the word in a sardonic drawl. “It’s a good story, Steve, but come on. You really think the key to reversing the aging process in humans is wrapped up in these religious myths? That this god of the Hebrews... what did you call him again?”

“Adonai. It means, Master as in Master of the Universe.  And yes, I do believe somewhere in the midst of these legends there is truth. Truths about all we once were, and what potential we have to be again. Even if you set aside the whole spiritual aspect to it all, the fact is there is scientific evidence out there that supports the notion that at one time, our species did enjoy greater longevity than we do now.  And as far as the stories around the Nephilim, bones of giant-sized humans from antiquity have also been discovered.  The question is who were they? What happened to them? All we need to do is sift through these ancient stories and see how much of it we can substantiate. Which I admit, I wasn’t exactly sure how I was going to do that until I came across this article a few months ago about the Israeli archeologist.”

“Oh yes. Dr. Sivski. What was the name of that gravesite again?”

“The Turbet es Yahoud, the Graves of the Jews. It’s located in the side of the mountain at Kibroth hattaavah in the Sinai Desert,” Steve replied.  “That is where the Hebrew slaves first came out after crossing the Red Sea when they were fleeing Pharaoh's army.  Dr. Sivski’s team only began their dig there, though. From what I can gather, it was some sort of inscription on the walls that led them to the hidden burial site of Joshua and his army.”

“Let’s say they actually discover these bones—you think they would still have the original DNA from Methuselah’s era? What is that, thousands and thousands of years ago?”

“I’d say if they do find the remnants of Joshua’s army, and it’s true that he really was leading an army into battle at 80, then there’s a good chance that his bones would contain at least faint traces of the ancient DNA. If I can get my hands on a sample, I could determine the validity of the claims that humans used to have longer life spans and possibly secure the missing genetic coding we need to complete the Methuselah Project.”

“I don’t know about all this, Steve; a fountain of youth in the bones of the Jews? Sounds more like a politically correct Indiana Jones sequel than something a billion-dollar biotech corporation should be pouring their money and manpower into. It’s a bunch of spiritual rabbit trails if you ask me,” Steve heard something like a scoff come through from the other end of the phone line.

Dr. Eizer continued: “You need to refocus.  Stay with the science behind the DNA work you started with and leave the myths out of it.  The equations you were coming up with initially on sub-atomic levels of reconfigurations, that’s the direction you need to keep heading in. You put those findings in the context of biogenetics and McNama’s investors will stay on board. But start bringing all this nonsense in about the Nephilim and the bones of the ancients warriors of your
people, and we’re going to lose our credibility and our financing.”

Steve noticed the snide way Dr. Eizer said your people. Was the proposal’s connection with the Jews a problem?  He took in a deep breath and tried to keep the agitation from coming through in his tone. Somehow he needed to justify why the answers they were looking for in biogenetics were hidden in humanity’s past. It was just a coincidence that “his people” were the only ethnic group who traced their lineage back to the beginning of time, literally name for name.  Steve realized it was best to let some things go unsaid for now, deciding instead to the focus back around to the science.

“Remember when I first brought up the idea of creating an anti-aging serum you pretty much laughed in my face—until I gave you precedence? The article from 1970 about two fellas from MIT discovering an enzyme called reverse transcriptase (RT) which acts as a retrovirus, reversing the developmental process of cells so that where they were once deteriorating, they begin to regenerate.  You said, ‘What’s a retrovirus?’ and I told you that the best example we have of one today is HIV. I explained that this anti-aging serum would work the same as the HIV retrovirus, only with healthier results: When introduced to a person’s body, it will launch the cells into a regenerative state which prevents the kind of deterioration that causes the body to grow older, and induces regeneration causing the body to grow younger. Because there was an example of it being done before, you gave me the go ahead. Well, that’s why we need Methuselah—he gives us precedence. Historical proof that the human body in its natural state was created to live hundreds of years longer than what it currently does right now. We’re talking about a biological birthright here—returning our species back to its former glory.”

“Listen Steve, I’m not in the business of birthrights and neither are you. We’re gene therapists and frankly, all I care about right now is the budget. You know as well as I do that this proposed trip to Israel of yours pushes us over our max.” Dr. Eizer cleared his throat loudly. Steve rolled his eyes and pushed his chair back from his desk, exasperated.  He glanced over the clock and remembered he had promised his sister he’d be at her presentation later that afternoon.  “How am I supposed to justify to our investors spending a large portion of the budget of a biogenetics project on sending you to the Israeli desert to be a part of a maverick archeological dig?” Dr. Eizer replied dryly. “By the way, did you know that they officially revoked Sivski’s credentials before they fired her?”

Steve winced. He had not known that, but somehow it didn’t surprise him. “She’s a bit of a risk, I know. But again, so is what we’re doing.  If I’m going to complete the serum, then I need the DNA coding of humans who lived longer, if it exists. Dr. Sivski, as unorthodox as her methods are, is the only archeologist I’ve heard of, who has found something like that.” Steve thought for a moment about telling Dr. Eizer, that sometimes a person just knows when something is supposed to happen, a magnetic pull in the direction of their destiny.  But he knew he was pushing the limit already with talk about Methuselah and the Nephilim. Premonitions would probably push the doctor over the edge.

“We have to be realistic with where the research is at. Right now if we injected someone with the retrovirus, they would keep growing younger and younger, back to infancy, but we’re missing the genetic strand that stops the process at a designated point and stabilizes the age.  The bone remnants that have been discovered in the Sinai desert are the only lead we’ve got to work with at this point. I promise, Dr. Eizer, If you send me to Israel I won’t come back unless I get my hands on that ancient DNA coding, and the we’ll use it to complete this organic compound that McNama can then package and sell. I promise, the Methuselah Project will make your investors a lot of money in the end.” He shifted his weight a bit in his chair.  Both men were quiet for a moment.

“Well, you’re lucky the final call on this one isn’t up to me. The fact is that the chairman of the board, Ms. Behl, is interested in this new angle of yours. She likes the idea that one of our people getting a first-hand look at what they are finding over there just in case it turns out to be something significant. Someone said she used to know Sivski years back. But we’ll be keeping a
close eye on your travels,” Dr. Eizer warned. “You got the go ahead after all. Isn’t that something?”

Steve stood up with phone in hand. His whole body felt weary.  It’s one kind of something alright he thought himself, realizing now that though he had the board’s support, Dr. Eizer wasn’t happy about it.

“We can’t do any more lab work until the funding is released later next month. But if you can get the research from your preliminary studies to me by the end of the week, then we’ll meet with the department heads on Monday and see how this all can move forward.  The last I heard, Dr. Behl was trying to set up some kind of meeting for you with our contacts at the Israeli Archeological Society. You may be in Israel as early as the end of the month.”

“Alright then,” Steve responded amicably.  He said a quick good-bye and hung up the phone. A strange mixture of defeat and invigoration swept over him. He glanced down one last time at the photo of the doctor and couldn’t help but feel that something about meeting this person was inevitable.  Then, realizing the time, he shut his laptop. If he left now, he would be able to make it to his sister’s presentation downtown just in time. He walked over to the window to draw the blinds closed and noticed a few small raindrops starting to come down.  He picked up his umbrella and jacket as he left, hoping he could make the GO train in time.

Chapter #11 MASADA

The dusty green jeep sped across the desert, spraying sand in a wake behind it. Steve sat in the back seat, next to the Frenchman, holding on tightly to the roll bar.

“Demande-lui c’est quoi qu’il pense a marcher sur le tundra?”

Steve’s eyes glazed over in bewilderment and he nodded blankly.

“He wants to know what its like to walk on tundra,” the young Jewish soldier explained as she glanced back at him in the rear view mirror. Though they had been driving for quite awhile by now, this was the first time any of them had spoken.

“What? What does that mean?” Steve asked, bewildered, as he leaned forward.

The driver laughed heartily and Steve couldn’t help but notice how there was something that looked familiar about her. “I told him you were Canadian. I guess he assumes you are from the very northern part,” she replied.

“Tell him that Toronto is further south than Boston. And Seattle. And pretty much anywhere in Vermont. Tell him there is no tundra, only asphalt, where I come from. And no igloos either.” Steve rolled his eyes and smirked as he looked out over the landscape. Dusty cliffs were now beginning to emerge as they entered the eastern edge of the Judean desert.

The woman turned to her comrade and spoke to him in French. He laughed.

Steve looked over at them suspiciously. “Now what are you two saying?”

“I told him that you said it was mushy in the summer and hard and cold in the winter.”

“Great. That’s real great. Just keep those stereotypes alive.”

“Mathieu speaks English, you know.” The woman looked over at the Frenchman and nudged him.
Steve raised an eyebrow.

“A leetle beet,” Mathieu said with a sly smile and a heavy French accent.

“How far did you say the underground caverns were?” Steve turned back to the driver again. He hadn’t gotten a chance to see her face all that well in the parking lot back at the hotel in Jerusalem, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d seen her somewhere before. He glanced down and saw a black duffle bag sitting at the Frenchman’s feet and then it hit him. The plane. She was the woman who had gotten on the flight late and sat in the aisle seat next to Sukuru. The black duffel bag she had carried on board with her now sat in the passenger side seat.

“I am Mathieu.” The Frenchman introduced himself, holding out his hand to Steve. “I am le bras droit, ze right hand of the man of Dr. Sivski.”

The soldier swerved suddenly to miss a large pothole in the road and then chuckled. “I think the proper translation is actually Dr. Sivski’s right hand man.”

Steve shook his hand warily. “And who are you?” he asked the woman.

“She is Rayzel,” Mathieu responded. “She is an agent of ze Mossad.”

“The Mossad?” Steve asked, sitting back heavily in his seat. “Seriously?”

“Yes - it’s my second year with the Israeli Institute for Intelligence and Special Operations,”  Rayzel explained.

“They have sent her to escort us—well, you actually—to the caverns near Masada.”

“Oh.” Steve said solemnly, taking a minute to process. Ever since his exchange at the airport, a soberness had set in as it dawned on him that whatever this was that his family was at the centre of, it was about to get a whole lot worse. Realizing there was a Mossad agent in the front seat drove the point home even further.

“Is this just about the research? Protecting the serum I mean?”

“Oui. In part.” Mathieu turned around from the front seat of the jeep so they could talk more easily. “Eet ees more about the pearl, though.”

“What do you mean ‘the pearl’? What pearl?”

“Not what. Who. Your grandmother to be exact,” Rayzel said, keeping her eyes on the road but throwing a quick glance in the rearview back to gage Steve reaction.

“My grandmother?” Steve repeated.

“Oui. You know about the groups—uh, how do you say?— cells? The ones hunting down the survivors of za comps. Eh, the Holocaust comps.  Neu Nazis.”

“Yes. I know.” Steve asked, trying to follow Mathieu’s thick accent.

“We’ve been tracking a number of these cells for the last decade or so,” Rayzel continued.  “In Canada, there are only two. One in Quebec and one outside of Toronto, near the U.S. border. Your father lives across from one of their main guys.”

Stanislov, thought Steve. “My dad was filling us in on all that right before I left. But where does my grandmother come into all of this? I mean, other than the fact that she is one of the few remaining survivors?”

“We’re not exactly sure. All we know is that something happened in the camps to single her out. We’ve been intercepting messages with her name on it for years. Actually, in the beginning, they just read, ‘the pearl of great worth’.  We thought it was code for a lost treasure or something. Then we realized it was a name. We did a search of the remaining survivors and realized only one of them was named Pearl -- your grandmother.” Rayzel leaned her head back towards Steve and added, “We were hoping she’d be able to tell us exactly what happened all those years ago in the camps that would set her apart from all the others.”

Steve thought for a moment about what Pearl had said about being “chosen” during their conversation after dinner the night before he left. But she had stopped abruptly and never really finished telling them. When he looked up at Rayzel, he just shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Rayzel continued. “Well, the one thing we do know about your grandmother is that she led them to the serum . . . through you.”

“Ze serum ees tres important.”

“Yes, especially if once these cells converge they move forward with their plans to launch some kind of international strike.  They get their hands on that serum before we do, they’ll use it to fortify their army for the attack.”

“I didn’t realize the Israeli army was interested in getting its hands on my research.” Steve said with a bit of a cocky smile.

“Very much, Mr. Somers. In fact, when we get to Masada, you will only have one day to get whatever you need to get from Dr. Sivski. Then I have orders to bring you back to the Israeli Defense post immediately. They have a lab set up for you there. Hopefully by then your grandmother will be with us and we’ll be able to get to the bottom of all this before the first major strike happens.”

Mathieu rolled up the jeep window as the last rays of sun vanished and the darkness began to set in. “The Neo-Nazi cells are operating underground right now, but if our intelligence is correct, then within the next few months, there will be an international alignment happening.  Every continent has a central cell—South America is in Santiago. North America was in Montreal. In Europe, it is in the Ukraine.  In Africa...”

“Africa? So that’s where Sukuru comes in?” Steve asked, putting the pieces together.

“Yes. We have been warned that a possible first major strike could be Ethiopia where there is a cluster of black Jews trying to migrate to Israel. We recruited Sukuru for this as soon as we found out that Ethiopia may be on the front lines.”

“What do you mean ‘recruited’?” Steve asked.

“We began recruiting our agents from the local population in the early 90’s, training and equipping them and then repositioning them in their respective countries. We call them the ‘Midwives’. The terrorist cells may have been working underground for quite some time, but so have we.”

“And now, monsieur, we will need to cover your eyes.” The Frenchman reached in the black bag and pulled out a blindfold, showing it to Steve.

“Seriously?” Steve asked, a bit indignant.

“Eet is better that you do not know where eet is that wee are taking you.” Mathieu warned. Steve sighed and relented, leaning forward.

“It will be a while. You may want to sleep,” Rayzel suggested, as she adjusted her army-issued coat and pushed down on the gas. Steve settled into the backseat as the jeep sped up and the sun began to set over the desert.

It was late at night when the jeep finally came to a stop somewhere in the Judean desert.  Steve could hear Rayzel and Mathieu jump out and walk over and greet several others by name. The group began talking together for several minutes in muffled tones, and then Mathieu came back to the jeep, opened the doors, and took off his blindfold.

“We’re here?” Steve asked, trying to get his bearings in the dark night. He could see muted outlines of tents under the flickering light from a fire pit, but most of the surroundings were obscured.

“Welcome to Masada,” the warm, raspy voice of Dr. Sivski caused him to turn his head.  She walked up to him and shook his hand, a bit stiffly.  Then she reached out in front of her towards a cave-like opening in one of the hills and beckoned to him to follow. “Come.”

Steve picked up his duffle bag from the back of the jeep, threw it over his shoulder, and followed the group to what looked like the entrance to a small tunnel. As he walked by the tents, he could see that inside some of them there were artifacts lying on makeshift tables.

Dr. Sivski noticed him looking. “I’ll show you some of our discoveries in the morning. For now, we’ll go below and find a place for you to sleep.”

“Below?” he asked, confused, but she had already turned and ducked down into the cave entrance. She paused to look back and make sure he was following. When she realized he was just looking at her, she said, a bit impatiently, “Mr. Somers, if you’ll follow me?” He obliged, throwing his bag over his shoulder. “These are the caves that the Sicarii hid in when Masada fell to the Romans,” she explained as she led the way down.

“I thought all the Sicarii died in a mass suicide?” he asked running his hand along the damp, smooth walls.

“Ah, you’ve done some research,” she said, clearing her throat. “All of the ones who took a stand against the Romans did die, yes. But a remnant was chosen among them to escape through a long tunnel system that they had been secretly digging for years. Watch your head.” Ariel continued down through a winding tunneled walkway, which then opened up suddenly. Steve could barely believe what he was seeing, standing on a wide rock precipice, he looked out over an incredible expanse that encompassed an entire underground colony of caverns.

“This is wild. It’s like a whole subterranean village.” Steve said, peering down into the depths of it all, which was latticed by five levels that dropped down nearly 50 meters down.  Each level contained a series of caves that were dug into the side of the mountains, forming a series of apartment-like structures. The excavation team had hung lights in wire framing at intervals, which gave off a gold-tinged glow and allowed Steve to see the full expanse of the caverns. “It’s like the ancient villages the Anasazis built into the sides of mountains, only underground,” he said, in awe.

“Yes, it is amazing. It is nearly identical to the ancient underground colonies of Derinkuyu in Turkey. No one knows about the underground Israeli caverns yet, though.  There have been myths about them for decades, but no one imagined they actually existed or that they would be this sophisticated. The Bedouin had found the entrance tunnels several decades ago, so they led us right to them when we asked, but the opening into this main piazza had been covered up for centuries under stacks of rocks. Even the Bedouin didn’t know about it. Fortunately, Matthieu noticed immediately that the stacks where too loosely configured to be a natural formation and, after a few days of pushing, we broke through. Thus, these caverns are now a part of our team’s discovery.”

Mathieu came up from behind and threw his arm around Steve’s shoulder. “You sleep with me tonight, yes?” He grabbed Steve’s bag and walked ahead of him, disappearing into one of the caves.

“He must like you,” Dr. Sivski said, looking after her colleague fondly. “He keeps to himself quite a bit and rarely wants anyone around him when he’s not excavating. You should go.”

Steve nodded and started to head in the direction that Mathieu had gone in, when he stopped and turned back. “Dr. Sivski?”

“It’s just Ariel. We’re all on first name basis out here.” Ariel said, though a bit awkwardly it seemed to Steve.

“Okay then, Ariel. I have something for you.” Steve reached into his bag and could have sworn he saw a faint blush on her face as he looked back up, but as soon as she saw what he was holding, her face grew pale.

 “Who gave you that?”  It was more an indictment than a question.

“Marguerite . . .”

“When?”

“Right before I left. She said to tell you to, uh, remember the midwives.”

Ariel reached out slowly and took the pendant into her hand, the Star of David dangling from the end of the silver chain.  “It begins then.” She said, more to herself than to anyone. Clearing her throat, she turned to go, barely glancing at Steve.  “Rayzel will be taking you on to the Mossad headquarters tomorrow night, so don’t get too comfortable here.”

Steve was trying to catch up with the quick change in her disposition. “Yes, they told me already. There’s just one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“I need to call my family. Let them know I am here.”

“You can’t call anyone from here.  You’ll have to wait to call your wife until tomorrow night when you’re at headquarters.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean my wife. I’m not married. Yet. I mean, not ‘yet’.” Flustered, Steve chided himself inwardly and tried to stand there and look as dignified as he could.  “I gotta touch base with my dad.”

His stumbling seemed to disarm her preoccupation. A small smile passed quickly through her eyes. “Right. Well, then, you can call your dad from headquarters tomorrow. See you in the morning, Steve.”

Steve smiled sheepishly and lingered for a moment, waiting as she walked away for something more to happen, though he wasn’t quite sure what exactly.

“Oh, and Steve?” Ariel turned.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for making sure this got to me.”

“Of course.”

“Many things are going to start to happen quickly now,” she said, quietly. “You should probably prepare yourself.”

“Sure,” he responded awkwardly, uncertain of what she meant exactly.

Catching the inflection in his tone, she clarified: “You know they’ve started to quarantine the survivors?”

Steve recalibrated. “Yes. I know. My grandmother arrives in Israel later this week.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize...”

“I’m going to head to bed then.”  Steve added.

“Of course. Good night then.” She walked away, undoing the clasp and linking it behind her neck as she walked. He watched as she lifted her hair off the nape of her neck to fasten the necklace.

Sensing his eyes on her, she turned back around, but Steve had already begun to make his way over to Mathieu’s cave. Not realizing she was looking at him, he lifted his shirt to wipe his brow. Her gaze fell to his exposed back, tanned and muscular. Though she had stacks of research to plow through that night, she paused and let her gaze linger. She took in a deep breath as he disappeared around the corner. For the first time in a long time, Ariel didn’t feel like working.

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